


No Roses

by Krissielee



Series: Kingsman Tumblr Prompts [11]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: AU, M/M, Same Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 00:48:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7596811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krissielee/pseuds/Krissielee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do I passive-aggressively say ‘fuck you’ in flowers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Roses

**Author's Note:**

> Finally posting this here! Was previously up on my [tumblr](http://krissielee.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Title credit goes to [Jaybee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mockingjaybee/pseuds/mockingjaybee) <3 because she's _amazing_.
> 
> Came from an anonymous prompt on tumblr for that awesome "Fuck You" bouquet, but same-age Hartwin.

The shop wasn’t busy, a fact for which Harry was grateful. He had a few bouquets to put together before he could close, and it was pleasant, the shop filled with the sweet smells of a dozen different blooms, cases overflowing with colours, strains of classic jazz softly playing in the backroom and filtering up front.

So when the door slammed open, the bell ringing angrily, Harry almost jumped. When a twenty-pound note was slammed in front of him and his eyes met the young man who’d set it there, his breath caught.

“How do I passive-aggressively say ‘fuck you’ in flowers?” he asked. His eyes were hard, lips thin and shoulders squared. 

“How pissed off are you at the recipient?” Harry asked, though he was already forming an arrangement in his mind, full of lilies and foxglove, perhaps a dash of opal basil for a slightly bitter scent that would only register later, long after the sweetness of the geraniums faded.

“She fucking set me up on another shitty blind date. This makes three this week,” the young man ranted, and Harry hummed. Definitely the basil. “Fuckin’ wouldn’t mind if she’d just stop settin’ me up with her poncy rich boys from Oxford an’ the like, but they ain’t understand life’s not so perf, you get me?” 

“Not all rich boys are like that,” Harry placated. “Perhaps she thought these ones were different?” After all, he was a ‘poncy rich boy,’ yet he was also a disappointment to his folks, having graduated and gone into flower arranging. He’d wanted to make his own way, and living off his parent’s money was no way to do so.

“Well, they wasn’t,” the other man said, pulling his cap lower over his eyes. 

Harry went around the shop, pulling plants as he did so, laying them out on the counter. “Will these suffice?” he asked.

“They’re pretty. What do they mean?”

And Harry explained each of them, meadowsweet indicating the recipient’s uselessness, the basil for hatred, the Saint John’s Wort for animosity. Orange lilies for an extra dash of hatred—plus, the colour really was splendid. Foxglove for insincerity, frog orchids for disgust. The man’s eyes lit up with each description, and he smiled at Harry. Harry’s heart skipped a beat.

“It’s perf. Er—all I got’s that twenty,” he added.

“No, no, don’t worry, sir,” Harry said, grinning a little wickedly. “It’s my pleasure to use my powers for evil this time. Come back in about an hour and I’ll have the arrangement finished.”

“Cheers, then …” The man trailed off expectantly.

“Harry. Harry Hart.”

“Cheers, Harry. I’m Eggsy.” Eggsy looked ready to fight if Harry so much as breathed a laugh at his moniker, but Harry wouldn’t. The name suited him, odd as it was.

“I’ll see you in about an hour, Eggsy. Go on; I’ve work to do.”

After all, two bouquets took twice as long as one.

\--

Eggsy returned a little more than an hour later, and Harry presented him first with the arrangement for his friend. It was one of his better pieces, Harry would admit, and Eggsy seemed to love it, too.

“Oh, it’s ace, Harry. Fuckin’ perf! Rox’ll never know what hit her!” he exclaimed, ready to leave.

“There’s one more thing, Eggsy …” Harry said, and once the other man had turned back to him, he offered up the second bouquet. It wasn’t quite as grand as the first, but the sentiments were even more heartfelt. “That one’s for you.”

“For me?” Eggsy was surprised. “I mean, not that it ain’t gorge, but … why? What’s it mean?”

And Harry took a breath, pointing to each of the flowers in turn. “Peach blossoms for your charm. Sweet William for your smile. Daisies for your beauty. Pear for my affection. Snowdrops and Celandine for a hope of your future happiness. With- with me,” Harry finished lamely, but he still met Eggsy’s eyes. “It’s yours, even if you don’t feel the same.”

Eggsy was silent, fingers trailing over the petals of the flowers, but then he smiled softly.

“What flowers’ll say ‘fuck yeah’?”


End file.
